Where the Staircase Ends(36)

“Somebody’s in a foul mood,” Sunny said as she reapplied her lip gloss and caught sight of my face in the mirror. She must have sensed I was a funnel cloud about to touch ground because she pulled the seat forward and passed me the vodka-OJ container without another word.

I slipped a cigarette from the pack sitting on the center console and lit it, pulling in a long, hard breath so the cherry glowed deeply in the dim light of the back seat. I felt like the cigarette right then: hot and angry. Screw my vow, I thought. I was not going to relax. I didn’t give a shit about being nice to Sunny. Not anymore.





CHAPTER TWELVE


SNOWDRIFTS





The snow had been falling straight and steady onto the staircase for a while. I still couldn’t figure out what it meant or why it was there, but it seemed to mute out whatever part of my brain made the ghosts appear because I hadn’t seen one since before the first flake fell. It was a beautiful and welcome reprieve.

It fell heavily enough to create small drifts up and down the steps, glittering and white in daylight. To pass the time I made a game out of it, hopping from snowdrift to snowdrift while trying not to lose my balance—kind of like a winter version of hopscotch. Which didn’t sound exciting, but I had limited forms of entertainment up there. I was just working with what I’d been given.

I also tried throwing snowballs to see if they’d stick against the invisible side of the stairs. They didn’t. I must have tried a dozen or so times, bunching up the snow so it was tight and compact before launching it toward the edge of the stairs. Sure enough, it went right over the side, like there was nothing there to hold it in. Yet when I tried to stick a hand or foot over the edge, I couldn’t. It was like I was trapped inside a giant snow globe, but everything else was free to go where it wanted.

The snowflakes seemed larger and more distinct than regular snowflakes. They were so large I could make out the designs on each one, like tiny holes had been punched into white paper in a million different combinations. I always thought snow looked like a bunch of fluffy white dots falling from the sky, not that I’d seen enough of it to really have an opinion. It rarely snowed back home.

I lifted my foot to take another step and nearly tumbled forward. The step in front of me was shallower than previous steps, and I lost my balance when my foot came down lower than I expected. The next step was slightly shorter, and then the next one even shorter than that, as if the staircase was flattening out. I squinted ahead to see if I was right, but my vision blurred from a flurry of white. Was the snow falling harder than it had been a moment before? I could barely make out what was in front of me.

I squinted again, but a gust of white flakes swallowed up the staircase, blowing around me in a thickening cloud until I could only see a foot or so ahead. Blustering—that was the word for it. The snow was suddenly blustering into a dense, white storm.

I folded my arms around my body. It wasn’t that the air was cold, but the snow sent shivers down my spine when it touched my bare skin, and there was so much of it falling from the sky that I was practically covered. Keeping my chin down, I stepped upward carefully, but my foot fell down against a level surface, and I realized the steps had completely flattened out. My flip-flops crunched through several inches of snow, but beneath it was smooth, step-less ground. What had happened to the staircase? Was it possible I had reached the top? If I could see through the snow, I might be able to tell where I was, but it was like trying to see through a wall—everything was blotted out.

Somewhere in the distance I heard laughter. The sound tinkled through the storm like a wind chime, light and happy.

“Who’s there?” I called.

“Look at it! There’s so much,” said a girl’s voice.

“I don’t want to step on it. It’s too pretty,” answered another girl. Their voices were small, like children’s.

I stepped forward, and the snow started to thin. The thick air cleared until the flakes were intermittent and I could see the new world around me.

I was in a backyard. My backyard. The ground was covered in a thick blanket of snowfall several inches deep, turning hard edges soft. Even the rusting swing-set my parents refused to throw out had crystalline icicles lining the frame and a powdered sugar casing. A younger me huddled against the porch doorframe next to Sunny, our eyes wild at the sight of the winter wonderland. We were bundled to the teeth in puffy coats, tautly wrapped scarves, and woolen mittens.

“Come on,” said Sunny, tugging the smaller me forward into the powder. “I don’t want to waste it. This is incredible! I’ve never seen this much snow before.”

She bent down and scooped up a ball of it. The smaller me followed hesitantly, still awestruck by the pristine sheet of white icing the landscape.

I moved to stand next to Sunny, waving my hand in front of her face.

“Hello?” I said, wiggling my fingers and clapping my hands to get her attention. She didn’t notice me, focused instead on the melting ball in her hand. I was invisible. The girls had no idea I was there.

Beneath me the snow was undisturbed. Even though I could feel the ground underneath the soles of my shoes, I didn’t leave any footprints. It was as if my feet were sitting on top of a barrier that prevented me from sinking through the slush.

“Let’s build a snowman,” Sunny said, grinning from ear to ear as she packed the ball tightly in her hand.